


Lost Tapes

by seerofheart



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Pre - Sburb, Sadstuck, Tape recordings, Time Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 12:16:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seerofheart/pseuds/seerofheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave never got to say goodbye to his Brother, so when he finds his chance - a tape recorder - he decides to say one last goodbye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Tapes

There is no better place to sit than the rooftop of your crappy, rundown apartment building. 

You tried bringing Dave up, once, but he freaked out about falling to his death and absconded. You won't blame the kid. He's only four, after all. But he'll have to man up soon enough, because your official sword wielding age is five. Even if the state's sword wielding age is much older. Whatever. Your Lil' Man can handle it.

Anyway, you decided while Dave was scribbling the letter 'a' fifty times in his notebook, you might as well get a breath of choking, smoky, city air.

How refreshing. 

When you open your eyes from your vantage point - leaning against the wall to the stairway - there's a flash of red, blinding light, and something hits the ground with a little thud. When you blink from behind your shades, a small, labelled tape sits on the ground before you. You reach down, picking up the small black object, and read the label. In messy, pink, scribbled handwriting, it reads: "Watch Me". You debated the tape's wishes, because, who followed the orders of an apparent pink-pen wielding television tape? It could be dangerous, after all. Not that you care, anyway. 

You make your way back down the stairway and into the apartment, looking over the tape once more. After reaching the television, you thank the fact that you spared the cassette player for ironic purposes. You stick in the tape and sit down on the couch, leisurely pressing play.

"Is this thing on?" says a voice, and the first thing to pop up on the screen - in surprisingly good quailty for a tape - is a pair of legs donned with red. Whoever this is must be fixing their camera.

"Yeah, it's on, can you not see the little red light blinking, Strider? That means it's on, you insufferable pain in the ass." another voice growls. Wait, Strider?

The camera orients upward, and your breath catches in your throat. The boy sitting there has light blond hair, pale, freckled skin, and has the same facial structure as the four year old sitting in his bedroom right now. But. . .around ten years older. Wait, is that Dave?!

"Cool. Thanks, Vantas." says the Dave-look-alike, and you hear a scoff from behind the camera.

"Whatever." the second voice replies.

"C'mon cupcake, use your manners." the kid infront of the camera smirks.

"Go die painfully." the other growls.

"You too, Karkles." the kid gives a nod of his head and the door slams shut, leaving the only one in the room being the Dave-look-alike. He leans forward, then smiles.

"'Sup, Bro. What am I, like five?" Four, you mentally correct him, "so, uh, this must be pretty weird, huh?" the boy rubs his neck, before promptly removing his aviators.

His eyes. They're ruby red, just like the four year old in his room.

"If you haven't guessed already, 's Dave." he explains, and you marvel at the boy on the screen. You mouth hangs opens in awe. 

"We played the game, Bro." he says, voice lowering. You swallow the lump forming in your throat. The game.

"I know you wont understand why I'm telling you this, but you will, in the future. Time shenanigans, y'know." he let out a sad laugh. 

"I miss you." he says quietly, and you can see the way his eyes gloss over with a rim of tears he wont let fall. Just like you taught him, you suppose. "I know you don't know why, but. . ." he trails off.

"There are lots of things I wanted to say," he sighs, shakingly, "That. . .I figured could've waited. But I guess it's better I say it now, huh?" 

He laughs again, but it's cold. "I'm sorry," he begins, "I'm so, so sorry and I miss you, Bro. So freakin' much."

You relax the muscles you hadn't realized you tensed. You feel like you've left him out in the dust.

"And. . .thanks. For being my brother, y'know. You were an ass, but I wouldn't ask for anyone else. Even if I was covered in layer after layer of puppet rump." You smile at this, slightly.

"And. . .for the record. . .whenever I say I'm too cool to do some brotherly shit, don't stop doing it, okay? I just have too much pride to admit I love it. God, I was such a little brat, huh?" he laughs again, this time less lifeless, more kind.

With one last look at the camera, he smiles once more, and Dave, your Dave, gives a little wave.

"Love 'ya." 

Then the screen fades to static. You sigh, flicking the television off before standing and stretching.

You hear the little pitter-patter of footsteps, and within the second there's a four year old clinging to your leg, giggling.

And when you see his lively, bright red irises and freckled cheeks, the picture on the screen never fades from your head.

The picture of the tired, broken boy with tear ridden red eyes and a thin, freckled face and cleanly combed blond hair.

You smile down at your little man, ruffling his hair.

Goddamn are you proud of this kid.

**Author's Note:**

> Argh. ;m; I'm tired and it was like three when I wrote this. Pardon if it's crappy.


End file.
